


what looks so strong (so delicate)

by goldensprite



Category: Bleach
Genre: Blood Kink, Hate Sex, Horn Stuff, Kinda, M/M, No Beta We Die Slowly Like Ulquiorra Fucking Cifer, No Lube, POV Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, Porn No Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25643047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldensprite/pseuds/goldensprite
Summary: Mindless Hollow Ichigo from chapter 350 wants Grimmjow to rail him. That's it. That's the fic.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Hollow Ichigo | Zangetsu
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	what looks so strong (so delicate)

**Author's Note:**

> More shit I wrote ten years ago and never posted! Rereading this now, I think if I'd known about a/b/o back then, I might have written it that way? Like, Ichigo is an alpha who doesn't like being an alpha, kind of thing. Don't know enough about a/b/o now, and don't feel up to the rewrite it would entail, so anyway this just is what it is
> 
> Also, I wrote this after reading the manga, so I don't think the character description totally matches up with the anime?
> 
> Title taken from [Coming Undone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1lIvC7fcGUM) by KoRn

Kurosaki Ichigo’s reiatsu, from far away, tingles faintly, bristling the hair on the back of your neck.

Up close, it itches. Like ants crawling up your arms, like sand under your nails. 

Claws. Whatever.

Kurosaki's approach, now, pricks at Grimmjow's awareness, like the onset of a migraine.

He'd been tracking the shinigami's reiatsu, raging against Ulquiorra’s. He felt the familiar darkening when Kurosaki pulled the mask out, felt Ulquiorra release. Ulquiorra’s reiatsu had gone _weird_ , and Kurosaki’s just seemed to disappear. And then it came back, and Ulquiorra’s faded away so slowly it was almost peaceful.

Kurosaki’s friends are off to one side, clashing with Yammy, and Kurosaki will definitely go to save them. No doubting it; sure as Hueco Mundo is full of sand and Aizen drinks too much fucking tea. And there’s no way he can get there without first going past here.

And predictably, pathetically, here he is.

‘Yo.’

The shinigami skates to a stop and _stares_ , like he’s the last person he was expecting to see.

‘Grimmjow!’

He is in bankai mode, his coat shredded, his face blood-spattered and weary-looking. Grimmjow feels his lips pull back into a snarl.

‘The fuck is wrong with you? Why didn’t that bitch heal you properly? I want you at a hundred percent when I kill you.’

Kurosaki’s fingers fly to his sword, but he doesn't draw. His hand just sits there. Relaxed. Irritating.

‘I can’t fight you now, Grimmjow. I have to go save my friends.’

Grimmjow’s fists clench, his claws digging into his palms. ‘Not up to you, asshole.’

The shinigami’s eyes go dull and his brow creases, and he gives Grimmjow that pleading, I-didn’t-come-here-to-fight look, full of pity and _something else_ , that's always made him sick to his stomach.

He growls.

‘Whip the mask out. Let’s go.’

He doesn’t give the fucker time to react, rushing forward before he finishes speaking. Naturally, Kurosaki dodges his first strike, and his second, and his third. 

If he couldn’t do that much, well, there’d be no point to this, would there?

Grimmjow sonidoes behind him and he turns too late (wide-eyed, sluggish, pathetic) into a kick that sends him flying into the ground and rolling to a dead stop.

‘Tch.’

There’s a burst of reiatsu nearby and Kurosaki leaps to his feet to follow, but Grimmjow is already there, punching him down again.

‘Let me go!’ The shinigami spits out grains of white sand. ‘I have to save them!’

Grimmjow punches him again before he can rise, harder this time, blood clinging to his fist. 

‘Fuck them!’ he snarls. ‘Bring out the mask!’

Grimmjow’s been paying half-hearted attention to the battle nearby, aware that one particular reiatsu’s been weakening steadily for some time. So it doesn’t surprise him in the least when it plummets. Kurosaki’s eyes widen and he tries to get up again, his lips already forming a name.

This time Grimmjow grabs him by whatever's left of his sleeve and _shakes_ him, bringing their faces close. ‘You’re not going anywhere, you stupid fucker!’

He flings him away, sending him flying into a half-broken pillar, sending up clouds of dust and broken brick. He narrows his eyes. The fucker still smells like Ulquiorra. _He_ was going to be the one to kill Ulquiorra, not this jumped up little piece of shit.

'Tch. Why can’t you just-'

His skin begins to prickle and he hears that tone, like two voices speaking at once.

‘Getsuga…’

And the smoke begins to clear and he finally sees what he's been waiting for.

‘… tenshou!’

He dodges easily. He’s seen that one enough to know what it can do. The black wave rushes by, sizzling past his skin.

He grins, and dashes forward.

It’s almost funny; he knows Kurosaki’s attack patterns so well, he knows exactly what the fucker is going to do next. He doesn’t even need to release his sword to keep up with him. It’s like he knows this asshole better than he knows anyone else, better than any of the Fraccion he used to live with. It’s effortless; if he just pays attention to the source of that chafing, itching pressure, he knows exactly the shinigami will throw at him next.

What could his own reiatsu feel like to Kurosaki?

Still: the fucker hasn’t managed to land a blow yet, hasn’t even managed to make him bleed, and it’s beginning to infuriate him. He grabs him by the hair, pulls him close enough to glare into those yellow eyes. ‘If you don’t start taking me seriously, you’re going to die,’ he tells him.

But that's no real incentive, is it? He wonders - has wondered, repeatedly, with some of the dumb shit he's seen this asshole do - if there's some part of Kurosaki that's actually _looking_ for death.

He leans close, baring his teeth. ‘And then your friends will die.’

At that those eyes flash, finally, with something akin to killing intent; the closest Kurosaki can muster, anyway. And the fucker finally hits him.

It's just a punch to the jaw, sloppy and reflexive, but it is _real_ , the first real thing Kurosaki has done so far. It makes Grimmjow’s eyes water, and he loosens his hold and steps backward.

He can’t see the shinigami, but he hears him muttering, his voice suddenly desperate.

‘No… No! Not now…’

He thinks it must be because he’s just been hit in the head, and he’s just imagining things.

But the tingling heat of Kurosaki's reiatsu is fading. In its place he feels…

… nothing.

Blinking, he looks up.

Kurosaki is _morphing_.

His hair is growing longer. The hands coming up to scratch at his mask are lengthening, sharpening, are no longer hands at all.

And there is a hole growing in his chest.

‘The _fuck_?’

Kurosaki – if it _is_ still Kurosaki at all – tilts his head back and roars. The sound reverberates through Grimmjow’s bones, making his broken mask rattle.

The creature lowers his head and faces him. Grimmjow has never seen this mask before. It looks solid: his old one looked like just that, a mask over his face, but this one looks more like a bared skull. There's also one horn on the top of his head, on the right side, and a stump on the left. 

The mask has black markings on it, continuing down Kurosaki's neck, drawing together at the top of his chest, around - and Grimmjow can't fucking believe that he's seeing this - an actual, real, fucking hollow hole.

Grimmjow knows Kurosaki’s looking at him, can feel it, but there are no eyes in that bone mask. Just empty sockets.

‘Have to,’ the creature rasps. 'Save.'

And then the fucker is _behind_ him. He doesn’t feel the pressure of Kurosaki’s reiatsu anymore, barely even feels the air stirring from the movement (and that was sonido, if it was anything). He turns and blocks, so he only skids backward on his heels, but can't avoid it completely. Blood sprays from his forearm where Kurosaki gores him.

‘What the fuck did you do to yourself?’

Kurosaki makes no answer, only lowers his head. At the tip of his horn, an orb of light sparks, begins to grow.

‘Fuck!’

He sonidoes backward, tries to shield himself, taking the blast mostly on his forearms and forehead, and feels the front of his jacket melt away against the impact.

Grimmjow lowers his arms, growling. Blood is seeping down his face and arms, leaking down his neck and his chest. The creature's empty sockets just _stare_ at him.

Grimmjow spits. 

He draws his sword, the creature mirroring his movement, and they clash. Kurosaki is quick and brutal now. There’s no pattern to the attacks, no tell from his reiatsu anymore, but Grimmjow manages to keep up with him.

He’d thought at first that this creature didn’t have any kind of reiatsu at all, but that isn't right. It only feels that way compared to what it's usually like (and isn't it funny that Grimmjow even knows that this well). Even in the past when the fucker pulled that mask out and his reiatsu thickened, there was always the same undercurrent thrumming beneath – intent. The intent to protect, the intent to save. Stupid shit like that.

There's no _intent_ here. This thing is a boiling, mad jumble of instinct.

Grimmjow flashes his fangs at it. Instinct, now, he can read like a book.

If he read books.

Their swords clang together and Grimmjow leaps away at the last second, getting behind Kurosaki and grabbing a fistful of hair. The creature yells and writhes but he holds fast, slamming all his body weight against his back and smashing him into the desert sand, pinning him there.

‘You think you can beat me like this? Huh? Who the fuck do you think I am?’ he snarls.

The creature thrashes under him. 'Save,' he bleats. 'Have to.'

'Have to, have to... fucksakes! Is that all you can say?' He grinds Kurosaki's face into the dirt. He's waited so long to have this, properly, no interruptions, face to face, and this is what he gets? 'You do all _this_ to yourself for what? You _have to?_ Don't fucking bullshit me. Are you even _alive_ in there?'

The shinigami grows still. For a moment only their shoulders move as they gulp down deep breaths, and then Kurosaki raises his arm and tosses his sword away.

This single action chills Grimmjow more than Kurosaki's battle stance ever had. He leaps off him, holding his own sword ready.

The creature sits up, turning those empty sockets on him.

‘Fuck are you doing?’

There’s something _off_ about him. Kurosaki doesn’t seem aggressive anymore. He’s just _sitting_ , making soft noises in his throat and... is he _sniffing?_

‘Stop that!’ Grimmjow barks. This is even weirder than him refusing to fight all the time.

The creature stops. He is still for a moment, and then stands, tears off his hakama, and drops to all fours, looking up over his shoulder at Grimmjow.

‘The _fuck?_ ’

He jerks his bare hips toward him, once, twice. When Grimmjow only stares at him, he moves again, making a low noise at the back of his throat. 

Grimmjow feels it start low in his belly, constricting his chest and shaking his shoulders; he throws his head back and _cackles_.

‘Kurosaki… You’re asking me for a rutting?’

The creature makes another urgent noise, and Grimmjow laughs again.

‘No… you’re begging for it, aren’t you?’

Grimmjow walks around him, stopping before his bowed head; he sees the erection straining between Kurosaki’s thighs, and his own cock starts to respond. He hasn’t done anything like this in a while, and the arousal is pouring off Kurosaki like steam.

‘And why should I do that for you, hm?’

Kurosaki lifts his head. ‘Want…’ he rasps, his voice broken, barely a voice at all.

‘I’ll bet you do,’ Grimmjow smirks. He kneels, and Kurosaki buries his face against the crook of his neck, snuffling and licking.

There is blood on his horn. The sight makes Grimmjow's mouth water, makes his fingers twitch with a compulsion he doesn’t understand. He grabs the base of it and pulls, smirking at the pitiful noise Kurosaki makes as he topples forward.

‘Tch. You still stink of Ulquiorra.’

Grimmjow hadn’t even realized just how deep Kurosaki cut him; blood drips down the curved length of his horn in long lines, deep red against bone white. 

Kurosaki begins to lick his chest, claws roaming his torso and dragging down to dip into Grimmjow’s hakama, pressing just underneath. Grimmjow shoves him off and he whimpers.

‘Cut that out.’

Grimmjow presses his tongue to the mask, the suture where horn meets skull, following the groove. The taste is organic, earthy; _scorched_ , somehow. He realizes he is growling softly and Kurosaki stills against him, panting, pressing closer. His tongue glides higher, finding blood and lapping, the noises from his throat getting louder and more feral. It is gratifying in a way he can't explain.

He is growing harder as well; against him Kurosaki becomes antsy, pressing against Grimmjow’s torso and making whimpering noises.

Grimmjow wipes the blood off his lips. Fuck it all.

Only…

He doesn’t want those empty eyes on him. 

‘Turn around.’

The words are barely out of his mouth when Kurosaki obeys, getting into position so quickly and pushing his ass out toward Grimmjow so eagerly it makes him smirk.

He tilts his head to the side and regards him: desperate and flushed, long, mussed blonde hair spilling across his back, single horn protruding over his bowed head.

For a second he has a sense of double vision so intense it dizzies him, and he barks a short laugh.

‘You almost look like Yylfordt from behind, you know that?’

Kurosaki whines. ‘Want…’

Rolling his eyes, Grimmjow kneels, spreading Kurosaki apart and spitting on him a few times, making him moan and shiver. Blood still drips down his forearm, and he lets it fall onto the creature's hole - probably won't do anything useful, but damn, if it isn't _interesting._

The creature keeps bucking; Grimmjow undoes his hakama and pulls it down, then grabs the horn in one hand, spreading Kurosaki's hole with the other, and impales him with his dick.

Kurosaki tosses his head back and howls, a high, _old_ noise that goes on and on.

Grimmjow draws back and pushes back in again, but obviously not fast enough, because the fucker is shoving his hips backward and taking Grimmjow deeper, huffing desperately.

Despite himself, Grimmjow groans. It feels good. More than good; Kurosaki is so tight it almost fucking hurts him, and he doesn’t even have to do anything, just kneel there and let the creature ride him, fucking himself on Grimmjow’s cock like it is the only thing keeping him alive.

The traces of blood on the creature's horn are dry now.

He grabs one of Kurosaki's wrists and spears his palm against the sharp tip, twisting and squeezing, dripping blood down its length, then bats the creature's hand away, wrapping his own fingers around the bottom and stroking, twisting upward in long, messy motions so the entire thing is slick and red. 

The thinking parts of himself, the new parts, born when the Hougyoku touched him, fall away. Much older urges rush to the surface: he is thinking with his blood and his cock and his muscles and his tongue and his teeth.

He shoves his palm in front of Kurosaki’s face and the creature licks and laps, cleaning the blood off him with grunts of pleasure. Using Kurosaki's hair, he yanks the creature upward so he can reach that horn with his mouth, licking and gnawing at it as the creature fucks itself on him. Grimmjow gouges with his claws, leaving deep, dripping scratches in Kurosaki's shoulders, neck, chest, arms. This was the way the shinigami was supposed to look, on his knees, full of cock, dripping with blood and loving it, moaning louder and louder the more punishment he got. 

‘What would your Shinigami friends say if they saw you now, huh? Great hero Kurosaki, on his knees and begging for it? You think they’d even want you to save them anymore?’

To the other side, another reiatsu spirals and falls.

‘You feel that?’ Grimmjow laughs. ‘Another friend of yours just bit it. You don’t care anymore?'

The thought strikes him as ridiculous, suddenly; all at once he remembers Kurosaki growing stronger in a second, just because that simpering bitch told him not to get hurt anymore, remembers Kurosaki vowing he’d take all his friends back home safely.

He snarls and slams Kurosaki’s face into the sand.

‘You worthless motherfucker…’ he growls.

All this time he’d thought he’d found someone worth all the trouble, worth the trek across Hueco Mundo and worth staying Aizen’s lapdog for, someone worth testing his strength against, but all he’d had to do to bring the fucker down was whip out his cock? 

It's just so fucking _stupid_. If this was all Kurosaki wanted, he could have had it any time. Grimmjow and his Fraccion could have passed him around; hell, all the Espada could've had a go, even Aizen himself.

Grimmjow grabs him by the throat and _squeezes_ , fucking as hard as he can, in vicious, violent thrusts. He bites, tears, rips, inflicting all the damage he'd wanted to earlier, bloodying the creature’s back and arms. Profanities spill from his throat and from somewhere deep inside him, somewhere _old_ that feels like it's been shaken loose; he howls and curses and roars, feeling nothing but hot blood leaking over his fingers and Kurosaki's tight hole choking his dick.

All the while Kurosaki croons - Grimmjow can hear him jerking off, and he’s slamming himself onto Grimmjow’s cock so hard now it blurs his vision.

He realizes he's close to orgasm at the same time that it dawns on him that he does _not_ want to finish inside this _thing_. He lets the creature buck on his cock a few more times, then yanks his dick out, booting Kurosaki off him. His muscles contract, his balls empty - mere sensation, barely pleasure at all - and his release spills onto his own thigh.

The creature stumbles toward him, braying, and he sonidoes around it; the thing falls, mewling and whining, then crawls to him, licking madly at the jizz on his thigh. It fucks itself on its fingers and jacks itself off, and Grimmjow just stares at it distantly, cold, postorgasm clarity settling in as he thinks, _I wasted my time on **this?**_

He looks at the thing's empty eye sockets, trying to discern _something_ in them. What he's even looking for, he has no idea, but it doesn't matter - there's nothing to be found. The creature is screeching, suckling at Grimmjow's come and fucking itself wilder and faster. He can't take any more of this; he yanks the thing's head up, grasps its throat with both hands and _crushes_.

But the creature's mouth goes slack and it brays; it bucks madly, jerkily, and then it is shuddering, streaks of jizz spraying onto the ground.

He flings the thing away.

It lies there, panting and moaning, claws roaming its body and smearing blood around its skin.

Grimmjow is wondering what the fuck to even do next, when he hears something snap - deep fissures appear in the creature's mask, and it shatters. Suddenly, there's a whirl of reiatsu, and a vortex of light appears above the thing. All the cuts and scratches heal up, the long hair shrinks away, and the hollow hole seals itself, and Grimmjow feels the tingle of Kurosaki's reiatsu going back to normal.

The shinigami leaps to his feet, looking utterly confused - his eyes dart from his own shredded clothes to Grimmjow's half naked body, to the blood and jizz staining the sand.

Grimmjow wants to laugh - Kurosaki doesn't remember? It's just too rich - last thing they were fighting, and now he comes back to himself and there's Grimmjow with his dick out, blood on the ground and all over Grimmjow's body, and there's no fucking way he can miss the stink of sex in the air. It's hilarious.

Kurosaki turns accusing eyes on him. ‘What did you do to me?’

‘Nothing you didn’t beg for.’

He sees realisation dawn in those eyes, shame following closely behind, and Grimmjow’s heart almost swells in his fucking chest, he’s so proud of the fact that he’s the one who put the hurt on that fucking face.

He laughs delightedly, and Kurosaki's face crumples further. It’s just too delicious for words.

‘See ya.’

Grimmjow _strolls_ away, knowing that the shinigami will not come after him, no matter what, because he has to be off to save the day.

He can still taste that horn on his lips, blood and death and bone. 

It tastes like victory.

**Author's Note:**

> Survivor's guilt/hero complex and secretly wants to ~~die~~ get railed!Ichigo is canon!Ichigo FIGHT ME  
> damn is this just a retread of my kensei/ichigo  
> i guess virtuous characters tired of being virtuous is just my whole jam  
> As always, feedback me hard and deep. You can also do it [in here](https://goldensprite.tumblr.com/) or just hmu if you're looking for a beta


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